


What Comes After

by uniquepov



Series: Draco/Hermione Advent Fics [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 06:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uniquepov/pseuds/uniquepov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione discovers what comes after... the break-up, the Yule Ball, and the morning after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Comes After

**Author's Note:**

> Written for D/Hr Advent 2012 with the prompt 'eggnog'. Much love and thanks for kinky_kneazle for the beta work <3.
> 
> Disclaimer: I solemnly swear that I am up to no good. However, I promise to return everyone, good as new, when I’m done playing with them. I own nothing that you recognize, and I do not profit from any of it.

Hermione woke with a pounding head, a fur-coated tongue, and an unfamiliar form spooned up against her. More specifically, an unfamiliar _masculine_ form pressed against her.

Her eyes flew open and she groped for her wand, knocking over several items in the strange surroundings. A deep groan sounded from her companion.

“Oi, Granger. Trying to sleep, here.” The arm around her waist tightened, pulling her snugly back against a broad chest.

The fur in her mouth turned to ash in a heartbeart. She took a deep breath.

 _Easy, Hermione,_ she reasoned through the bass beat echoing across her skull. _Don’t jump to conclusions just yet._ She took another deep breath, then slowly turned backwards so that she could look over her shoulder at her companion.

She didn’t have to move far to catch a glimpse of pale skin and platinum-blond hair. Her breath caught in her throat and she whipped her head forward again, heart pounding, and tried to remember how in Merlin’s name she could have wound up in bed with Draco _sodding_ Malfoy.

 _Be calm,_ she thought frantically. _Don’t panic. Don’t panic._

Hermione thought over the events of the night before. She’d attended the Ministry’s Yule Ball, held for Ministry employees and invited guests. She had planned to attend with Ron, but a few weeks ago they’d called things off – _again_ – and, as the rest of the wizards in their little circle of friends had already agreed to escort someone, she had opted to attend alone. Ginny had been furious at her brother – _"Honestly, when is he going to grow up and realise you’re not going to let him lark about forever?"_ – but Hermione had just smiled and shrugged. _"It’s an office Christmas party, Gin. I’m a grown witch and perfectly capable of attending on my own."_

The truth was, she’d honestly thought she _was_ capable of attending on her own.

***

Hermione froze at the Atrium entrance, momentarily overwhelmed by the noise and energy of the crowd and forcibly reminded of how much she detested attending these kinds of events. She’d gone out and bought herself a gown from the new shop in Diagon Alley, a flattering confection of shimmery blue fabric with small embroidered stars enchanted to sparkle at random intervals, and charmed her hair to fall in loose ringlets around her bared shoulders. Her mirror had told her she looked beautiful, but standing in the entryway staring out at the crowd, Hermione felt like an awkward, buck-toothed, bushy-haired eleven-year-old.

Harry caught her eye and gave her that soft, secret smile; the one that reminded her of another Yule Ball, a lifetime ago, when she’d set every tongue at Hogwarts wagging by appearing on the arm of Viktor Krum. She smiled back, her chin lifting determinedly. Head held high, she stepped into the crowd and began to mingle her way towards Harry, Ginny, and the rest of their circle.

There was no sign of Ron, not that she was watching. She chatted and smiled, even dancing with a number of _overeager_ young wizards from various Ministry departments until she was rescued by the ever-chivalrous Neville, who waltzed her gracefully around the floor several times before depositing her, breathless with laughter, in a chair next to Luna, who immediately struck up a conversation about efforts to save the endangered Erumpet population.

Then Harry offered her another glass of champagne, and she looked up from her conversation with Luna just in time to see Ron and _Lavender_ snogging in the middle of the dance floor like a couple of randy teenagers. She stared, aghast, for what seemed like an eternity, champagne flute raised halfway to her lips.

Ron’s eyes caught hers across the room, and he looked away immediately, turning into Lavender and whispering in her ear. 

She knew she shouldn’t let it get to her. What Ron got up to was none of her concern. Still, it hadn’t been all that long since their split; she wouldn’t have thought he’d have moved on so soon…

At least she still had the presence of mind not to cause a scene in the middle of the atrium. She was vaguely aware of Harry calling her name, and then … well, she supposed her magic went a bit haywire. She felt it coursing through her, sparking across her nerve endings, and the champagne flute suddenly shattered in her hand.

As heads swivelled in their direction, she smiled apologetically and made a beeline for the lifts, intent on escaping to her office in the Department of Mysteries, where she could compose herself before returning to the ball. As she waited for the doors to crank open, though, she heard a very familiar, very unwelcome drawl.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

Taking a deep, calming breath, she turned around to face Malfoy, leaning against the polished stone, arms folded across his chest with trademark smirk firmly in place.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course not. I must have missed the announcement for the start of the women’s 100-metre sprint.”

“Oh, sod off.”

“Brilliant repartee. Truly worthy of the brightest witch of our age.” Malfoy clapped his hands, the mockery in his tone adding insult to injury, and she felt the tears prickling at her eyelids.

“Don’t you ever get tired of being so unpleasant, Malfoy?”

Malfoy raised his hands, palms forward, in a gesture of surrender. “Truthfully? Yes, Granger, I do. However, if it’s one thing a Malfoy always knows, it’s how to play the part expected of him.” His brow furrowed as he looked at her more closely. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said dismissively, willing steadiness and calm into her voice. As the lift pinged and the doors began to open, she saw Malfoy dart a glance towards the dance floor and her eyes involuntarily followed. She caught a brief flash of ginger and blonde before whipping her head back around and stalking through the lift doors.

“Ah,” was Malfoy’s inelegant reply as he followed her.

The silence stretched between them as the lift made its way across the Ministry and finally jerked to a stop, the doors cranking open. “Department of Mysteries,” the voice announced.

Hermione strode out of the lift and down the hall, only dimly aware of Malfoy following her. She stopped outside the door to her office and whirled around to face him.

“Something I can help you with, Malfoy?”

“I doubt it. But I believe there’s something I can help _you_ with.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him, folding her arms across her chest as Malfoy gestured her into her own office, perching himself on one corner of her desk as though it were a throne. Pulling out his wand, he Conjured two crystal goblets full of a creamy, frothy concoction and handed one to her.

“What’s this?”

“Eggnog. Old Black family recipe.” At Hermione’s incredulous look, he huffed, grabbing her goblet and taking a small sip before handing it back. “Not poisoned, see?”

Hermione cradled the goblet in her hands, staring into its depths as she sank into her chair. “Why are you being so nice? It’s not like you.”

“I’m wounded. My manners are exemplary; ask anyone. I’m perfectly charming.”

“Not to me.”

“It’s Christmas. Consider it a peace offering.” She nodded slowly. After a long pause, he asked, “Why do you let that ginger git treat you that way?”

The venom in his question took her by surprise. “I – I don’t understand.”

“Yes, you do. You’re miles out of his league. Why do you keep wasting your time?”

“Ron and I – my relationship with Ron is none of your business.”

“Perhaps not. But I’m still asking.”

Hermione sighed. “What Ron gets up to is his own affair. We called it off a couple weeks ago.”

“Again.” Hermione just shrugged, but Malfoy pressed on, “Then why are you so upset?”

“I’m not upset.”

“You’re a rotten liar, Granger; you always have been.”

“Why do you care?”

“Why do _you_? Don’t you think it’s a bit pathetic?”

“Pathetic?! How dare you-“

“It _is_ pathetic! Carrying a torch for an insensitive lout who’s obviously moved on with his own life-“

“Because he swore to me that there was no one else!”

Malfoy let that statement hang in the air between them. Hermione put her goblet down, resting her arms on the desk as she dropped her forehead onto her arms.

“I _am_ pathetic, aren’t I?” Hermione mumbled into her desk blotter.

“Maybe a little.” Malfoy’s voice was surprisingly acid-free.

Hermione just groaned in response. She felt a gentle touch at her elbow.

“Come on, Granger. We’ll show him.”

Hermione raised her head, peering at him curiously. “How, precisely, will we do that?”

Malfoy smirked. “By forcing him to watch you have a marvellous time on the arm of his childhood nemesis.” He handed Hermione her goblet and clinked his own to it.

***

Hermione pressed her head back against the pillows. The rest of the evening was a blur of eggnog, spinning waltzes, laughter, and conversation. She vaguely recalled being surprised at what good company Malfoy was; how pleasantly the evening passed, and how infrequently she found herself looking for – or even thinking of – Ron and Lavender.

She remembered manoeuvring them into a darkened corner, mischievously pointing up at a small branch of mistletoe hung from an evergreen garland, and closing her eyes as Malfoy gave a grin and lowered his head to press his lips to her own.

She was no fool. She’d never done anything like this before, but they were both consenting adults. They’d indulged in a bit too much eggnog, perhaps, but she had only herself to blame for that.

But to fall into bed with _Draco Malfoy_ … she groaned, burying her face in the silk-clad pillow.

“Still say it’s too early for anything other than sleep,” Malfoy grumbled into her ear. “But you seem to be awake. I suppose this was too good to last.” He let go of her waist, rolling onto his back and stretching languidly. Hermione took advantage of the moment to roll into a sitting position at the edge of the bed.

And promptly realised that she was still wearing her camisole and slip.

She turned to stare at Malfoy, who was propped on one elbow, the band of his boxers peeking out from where the sheets had slid down and bunched about his waist.

“We didn’t…?” she trailed off uncertainly. Malfoy smirked in response.

“I assure you, Granger, if we _had_ , you would remember.”

“Too pathetic even for a sympathy shag?” she joked half-heartedly, fingers plucking at the corner of the duvet.

“Hey,” Malfoy rested his hand over hers. “What’s got into you?”

“Nothing,” Hermione said, forcing calm into her tone as she pulled her hand away. “I’ll, er, be out of your hair in a blink. Just let me get my things.”

“Hermione.” The seriousness in Malfoy’s tone stopped her. His hands closed around her shoulders and turned her gently to face him. “Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to say. You helped me get through the ball last night, and I appreciate it. I’m sorry if I made you at all uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?”

“Well, it would seem you didn’t reciprocate my… amorous intentions?”

Malfoy stared at her with a gobsmacked expression for a long moment, and then threw his head back and laughed. Hermione was struck by the sight of his unguarded expression, the way the warmth and laughter in his eyes caught the morning light.

“Hermione,” he began, lifting her chin with one finger until their eyes met. “I have reciprocated your ‘amorous intentions’ since fourth-year.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed and she waved a hand to encompass both of them. “Then why?”

“Because we were both a little the worse for the wine, as they say. And there are _rules_ about that sort of thing, Granger.”

“Hermione,” she corrected absently, turning Malfoy’s answer over in her mind. When he cocked his head in question, she continued, a small smile quirking up the corner of her mouth, “You called me Hermione a moment ago. You might as well continue on... Draco.”

Malfoy grinned, swooping in to press his lips to hers. “In that case, _Hermione_ , I believe we have some other things we could _continue on with_.”


End file.
